


daffodil

by Khaydi



Series: Language of the Flowers [1]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Mild Language, Slow Burn, and they don't listen to each other, they're both stupid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-03-06 15:47:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18854146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khaydi/pseuds/Khaydi
Summary: He laments about the could-bes, the hands that could have been held, the stories that could have been told, the warmth that could have coursed through his veins at the touch of fingertips against lips, lips against lips, forehead to forehead as we try to transmit through our breath how we feel, how the surge of time has stopped us from being, from becoming. Now we only have endings, point blank stops, a period… or maybe it’s a pause? An intake of breath from shaky lungs and even shakier hands, maybe there isn’t an end, maybe we have time to make mistakes, to stumble through our withouts before we have our withs.





	1. falling petals

 

John wonders if something that hasn’t started can ever really end? 

 

He’s long garnered affection for Roger, the strong willed blond has always burned brighter than most, catching the corner of his eye with his sharp movements and ever present loudness. But what really hooked him, had him stuck in the quicksand that is Roger Taylor was the gentle caresses of his fingers along his back before every performance, the soft whispers of  _ good job  _ after each one, the way he corners him during after parties with a mission to bum every last one of his cigarettes. He likes the brash, the flashy and the colorful Roger, but he loves the muted, the subdued and the sweet Roger the most. 

 

Maybe that’s what fucked him up, assuming that Roger was only like that with him, that he was special, that the boy was fond of him the minute he stepped into the band, all down-turned gazes, giggles hidden behind cupped hands, fingers tilting up chins. 

 

But he noticed, one day, when he’s not crowded by mused up blond hair and baby blue eyes, he noticed the same gentle, the same soft, on a girl with long brunette hair, leaning on her elbows, each second tipping closer and closer to Roger’s lips with every sighed word. 

 

His heart breaks. Not in the way he expects it, it doesn’t happen on a crescendo, it’s a slow build of denials and reasons, he doesn’t believe what he saw, even when Roger disappears into the bathroom with the girl and returns half an hour later, disheveled and grinning his lopsided grin. It grows and swells till his heart can no longer hold it, and like a balloon losing all its air, his heart is crushed. 

 

He regrets it, for a moment, when Roger bounds up to him during another party on another day, to steal a cigarette from his pocket, he’s all smiles, voice excited and booming over the thump of music in the background. John doesn’t smile back, he offers the cigarette with a dejected air around him, tired but still holding on, like his poor crushed heart was trying to shove this Roger shaped puzzle piece back into its shriveled form. 

 

He watches, with sadistic triumph, as Roger’s smile fades, his hand wrapped around the cigarette twitches back. He’s hurt him, not as much as he’s hurting now, but enough, enough to give John the strength to turn around and leave the party, down the alleyway, where he collapses in a heap of sobs. 

 

He stays there as the night gets colder. Minutes? Hours? He couldn’t tell, all he knows is that his legs are cramping from being folded for so long and his fingers are numb from the wind, and he thinks he’s starting to hear things. 

 

“John! John, what the fuck!” He wasn’t going insane sadly, as he tilts his head up and spots Roger stumbling through the slimy alleyway, eyes wild, his jacket slipping off with every step, “What the fuck were you thinking? It’s freezing outside and you just up and run away.” 

 

John doesn’t hear any of that, he’s too busy staring in bewilderment at Roger, stunning even with the garish yellow lighting of the distant streetlamps. Beautiful, “I… needed to get away,” It’s barely above a whisper, but in the quiet of the night Roger hears it just as loud. 

 

“Away? Away from what, Deacy?” Roger’s breathless as he asks, crouching down next to John, arms wrapping around his lanky frame in an attempt to keep him warm, or in comfort, or in relief. John stiffens and so does Roger, “Deacy?” 

 

He doesn’t mean for the sob to come out, but it does anyway and it startles them both, Roger pulling away enough to look at John’s face and John, jerking back as if he’d been burned, “You can’t be that stupid, can you? All these years and… you really didn’t notice? You really didn’t know? What the fuck, Roger…” 

 

“W-what, I don’t, What are you talking about? I don’t understand…” 

 

“Of course you don’t!” He’s yelling now, through gritted teeth as he pushes Roger impossibly further, “You wouldn’t know and you wouldn’t understand! That after all these years I’ve been in love with you, and it’s not your fault! Really it isn’t. It’s not your fault that I assumed and it’s not your fault that my heart is broken. It won’t ever be. And that’s what makes it unfair, that I can hurt and keep hurting and this won’t ever affect you, because you don’t know and you could have gone for so long without knowing while my insides rotted with more and more pain. You could have gone and gotten yourself a family, a pretty wife, a pretty house, pretty children in a pretty neighborhood, ideal and sparkling.” 

 

I could be left here, to decay, you can walk away, right now. Not a care in the world, you can forget this ever happened, forget I ever said I loved you. Fuck you can forget I ever existed. But I can’t, because my heart has molded its beats to the sound of your laughter, my mind has connected you to the rays of the sun, the warmth of the day to your touch and the cold of the night when we’re apart."

 

"So it’s why I ran out, Roger Taylor, I ran away from that party and from all your pretty girls and pretty boys, your alcohol and your cigarettes, your smile and your eyes. I ran away from you, and I’ve decided that that’s only fair for me, because you can live on with no pain, no ounce of regret after this. But me? I can’t,” John gets up at the end of his speech, his own arms wrapped around himself to keep warm as he’s looking down on Roger’s expressionless face, “I’m sorry, Rog.” He walks past Roger, into the lit streets, the sound of a few cars drowning out the scrape of his footsteps and Roger’s weak plea for him to stay goes unheard. 

 

Roger’s the one left in the alleyway, curled up much in the same fashion as John was previously, and he wonders then, in that moment, if something that never was and that never will be could possibly end. 

 

He laments about the could-bes, the hands that could have been held, the stories that could have been told, the warmth that could have coursed through his veins at the touch of fingertips against lips, lips against lips, forehead to forehead as we try to transmit through our breath how we feel, how the surge of time has stopped us from being, from becoming. Now we only have endings, point blank stops, a period… or maybe it’s a pause? An intake of breath from shaky lungs and even shakier hands, maybe there isn’t an end, maybe we have time to make mistakes, to stumble through our withouts before we have our withs. 

 

Because the loud tick of time doesn’t end when the night bears thick, just because you can no longer hear it doesn’t mean it stops existing. We have time, we’ll always have time. 

 

_ We’ll always have time.  _

 

Roger, with a newfound determination and with cheeks stained with tears he doesn’t remember crying, gets up and trudges back into the bar. 

 

_ We’ll always have time.  _

 

Maybe not today, or tomorrow, or a year from now. But as he pictures John’s retreating back, he hopes it’s soon. 

 

_ We’ll always have time.  _

  
  
  
  



	2. catching petals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We see Roger's side of things and how he isn't as oblivious as John previously assumed

Roger’s always been fond of John, maybe because they were closer in age or maybe because the minute John stepped into the band his gaze had been on Roger or maybe it was Roger staring, he couldn’t remember, but what he did know was, in the beginning, they were inseparable. Same interests, same hobbies, same chaotic tendencies. 

 

He shouldn’t have been surprised when John’s smile started to make his heart stutter, when John’s gaze started to make warmth seep into his cheeks. He should have known what it meant. But he was scared, because John was his band mate, his friend, someone that he trusted.  

 

But even with his new found feelings and new found fear he was still drawn to the younger boy, with his stormy eyes and soft voice, his sass hidden behind a quiet facade. Roger still feels his heart pull when he sees John hidden in a corner during a party, he still feels his heart skip a beat when he slips beside John to steal a cigarette from his loose hands, he still feels his entire heart stop when John looks at him and laughs at something stupid he said. 

 

It’s not fair to himself, but it definitely isn’t fair to John. Roger isn’t stupid, he sees the way John’s gaze lingers a bit too long on him, his fingers always hovering around Roger’s hand, almost as if he were itching to hold it. It isn’t fair that he knows and it’s even more unfair the minute he chooses to ignore it. 

 

It’s during one of their more subdued parties that Roger decides he should quit John, so he chats up the nearest person to him, a tall brunette girl, with long, long hair and even longer legs. He sits her down across from him at the dimly lit bar, watches as she leans forward, eyes flicking down to his lips. He whispers an invite as she tips closer, the girl nods and they descend into the bathroom. 

 

He makes the mistake of looking back, for just a moment, he sees John, eyes trained on him, simultaneously empty and filled with pain. His heart aches, but he continues on. 

 

He emerges half an hour later to the party having died down, only a couple of people were milling around, one of them was John, unusually out of his corner. He bounds towards him, smile bright. When Roger is close enough he notices the cold air around John, the empty eyes, and the blank face. He ignores it, like he’s been ignoring everything about John and instead reaches into John’s shirt pocket to steal one of his cigarettes, “How’s your night been?” He asks, loud, trying to speak over the booming music. 

 

John doesn’t respond, his face remains blank and his silence drowns out the music, Roger feels his heart sting, moving his hand away from its place near John, smile dropping. Roger notices John’s eyebrows raising, as if he’s contemplating Roger right before the he turns sharply, running out of the door. 

 

Roger is frozen for far too long, staring at the spot that previously held John, before he bolts after him. It’s freezing and the street is dimly lit, he runs faster, into the alleyway, slipping slightly on the moist rock, “John! John, what the fuck!” the sound of his knees hitting the ground was a lot louder than he thought it would be, he wraps his arms around a crumpled John, feeling minute shivers as the younger man continues to wordlessly stare at him, “What the fuck were you thinking? it’s freezing outside and you just up and run away?”

 

“I… needed to get away” John says it softly, gaze still locked on Roger. 

 

Roger rubs his hands along John’s sides, trying to warm him up as best as he could, “Away? Away from what, Deacy?” He feels John stiffen causing him to stop the movement of his hands, “Deacy?” 

 

John sobs, and Roger scrambles to look at his face, afraid he might have hurt him somehow, “John?-” 

 

“You can’t be that stupid, can you? All these years and… you really didn’t notice? You really didn’t know? What the fuck, Roger…”

 

“W-what, I don’t, What are you talking about? I don’t understand…” Roger says, despite the burn behind his eyes telling him he might know exactly what John is talking about. 

 

John yells, he’s never heard him yell before and he must admit it’s a lot scarier than he would ever imagine it to be, John has moved further away from him, voice cracking and breaking with emotion. Roger listens, as best as he can but the only thing swirling in his mind is guilt. He could have just said something, he knew exactly how John felt, he knew and he did nothing, even when he felt the same. Was it because he was scared? Is that even a good enough excuse? Is fear really enough of a reason for him to have hurt John so badly? 

 

“I’m sorry, Rog.” 

 

Roger watches him walk away, a broken, pained  _ don’t go _ lost behind the sobs he didn’t know he was making. He thinks of how he deserves this really, curled up in a dingy alleyway with a broken heart and scraped knees, he thinks of how he could have had John, in his arms instead of out in the streets going god knows where.

 

It might be his drunken mind or his hopeful heart but after the tears won’t come out anymore he thinks it might not be too late, there’s still time to fix it, he can tell John how he feels. How he’s always felt. He can still fix this. He has time to fix this. All he has to do is convince John to listen to him, but with tonight’s events Roger wonders if John ever wants to see him again. 

 

He hopes, rather wishes, that it’s soon. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter we have the boys try to communicate their feelings to each other. will it go well? will they just talk over each other and cry? tune in to find out!


	3. flower branches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roger comes clean about his long kept feelings for John.  
> John reacts as well as anyone finding out that someone they loved so deeply for years has felt the same all this time.

Soon comes weeks later in the form of John and Roger being the first ones in the recording studio that day, the others having felt their hangovers too much. John, in the moment isn’t sure if he should thank the gods or not as he watches Roger enter, his usual bravado that filled up the room considerably flattened when he spots John.

 

John keeps up his usual silence, he wants to speak, he wants to ask Roger how he is, how he’s faring without John’s constant presence but he’s been giving him the cold shoulder for far too long and he’s used to it now. But a _good morning_ still hangs off the tip of his tongue as he tries his damnedest not to look up at Roger.

 

He continues tuning his bass, feeling the silence stretch on for what feels like hours. Maybe John expected Roger to speak to him, or maybe he wanted him to. He’s starting to feel lonely, the buzz of plugged in amps becoming his only solace, he thinks he might cry.

 

A couple of stray tears do make it down his cheeks as he hears soft footsteps come to a stop in front of him, he stares at Roger’s shoes. He wonders how long he can pretend that he can’t see him.

 

John’s hopes of pretending to not know Roger exists is shattered when Roger speaks, “Hey, you.”

 

John takes in a shaky breath, he’s still looking down as he speaks, he doesn’t think he can look at Roger without bursting into more tears, “Hello, Rog,” It’s been so long that Roger’s name feels vaguely foreign on his tongue. He hates it.

 

“Deacy, I just wanted to apologize for what happened… at the bar,” Roger trails off, seemingly unsure of what he was really apologizing for.

 

John’s eyes are burning, “It’s fine, like I said, you can walk away and just forget about it. It’s fine,” He says the last _it’s fine_ like he’s more trying to convince himself than he is Roger, “We can pretend it never happened, if that’s some comfort to you.”

 

“No! No it’s not, it’s not okay… I should have told you, I should have been honest, but I was scared and you left too soon and-” Roger’s rambling is cut off as John suddenly stands.

 

“What do you mean?” John looks skeptical. He’s using the couple inches he has on Roger to look as intimidating as his lanky frame will allow him to. He thinks it works as Roger takes a half step away from him.

 

Roger is beet red, his hand rubbing nervously at the back of his neck, he barely makes any sense, but what he says makes John feel lightheaded, “I’m just saying that… I should have told you how I felt, before you ran off or even before that… I just… I should have told you how I felt when I felt it, yeah?”

 

“W-what…”

 

“I’m saying I love you too, John, I’ve had for a while, maybe longer than I choose to accept. But I do… and I was scared so I tried to ignore it, because you’re my friend and I think that matters more than how I feel,” Roger steps closer to John, his hand barely touching John’s cheek as he continues to talk, “So, I’m sorry… but if you’ll have me, I’m saying I feel the same and I hope we can work this out.”

 

John feels dizzy, dizzier when Roger’s hand finally touches his cheek, thumb stroking the warming skin. Roger’s eyes are gentle and his hands are rough on his face, “Why did you never say anything?”

 

Roger’s hand on his cheek falters for a moment, something worrying flashes in his eyes, “Well… I noticed or at least I assumed you were fond of me long before and I guess I was kind of scared that I was only responding to the attention you were giving me,” Roger chuckles awkwardly, “I just wanted to be sure.”

 

John is weighing Roger’s words in his mind. He knew? Or at least he had an idea about how John felt all this time? All this time. John’s thoughts are cut off as Roger gently pulls him down closer, lips a mere hover away from his, “Okay?” Roger asks, soft and ever caring. John wants to say yes, he feels every fiber of his being compelled to say yes. But…

 

“No…” John keeps the distance between them but doesn’t move further back, there’s a painful twinge to his voice, his hand coming up to cover Roger’s on his cheek, “No, Rog, I’m… sorry. I can’t… you knew? All this time how I felt? All this time, yet you still did the things you did, you still chose everyone else over me.”

 

Roger looks like he’s been slapped and he withdraws his hand from John’s grip quicker than necessary, “I…” Roger’s cradling his hand to his chest, blue eyes shining.

 

 _I’m sorry_ John mouths, stepping away from the blond. His breath is stuck in his throat and he can’t really find his voice, but he forces himself to croak out an apology anyways, “I’m so sorry, Rog… It’s just unfair. I can’t do this, I can’t keep being the one that’s hurting, it isn’t fair to me, it isn’t fair, if I say yes you’ll end up with the better part of the deal yet again. I can’t. I’m sorry.”

 

John makes a move to leave but Roger’s hand shoots out to grip at him weakly, “Please don’t leave again” It’s painful to hear Roger’s voice sounding so small, but John shakes his head and murmurs another _sorry_ , shaking his arm away as he slowly walks out the door. Not sparing Roger another glance.

 

Roger’s glad it at least isn’t a slimy alleyway at three A.M, but the scene feels eerily familiar. Him left alone, nursing a confused but definitely broken heart, and John out the metaphorical and literal door of his life. He seems to be fighting a losing battle with the younger one determined to deny Roger. He’s fine with John denying him, he can live with that, but he doesn’t think he can live with knowing their friendship ended because he was scared of ruining said friendship, too much irony.

 

Roger struggles through a breath he was holding, hands toying with the bass balanced on the stool in front of him. One last try, one more crack at trying to fix this. He could handle that.

  


Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey buddy i promise they'll be happy at some point, gotta wade through a couple of years of pent up drama ya know


	4. sprouting flowers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roger and John agree on a compromise for their relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i apologize in advance for the seemingly confusing POVs this chapter has. im very sick and idk what happened in my feverish state

Nearing the end of recording their album means tensions are high and any excuse to get absolutely plastered was well appreciated. It’s how John found himself in yet another cramped bar celebrating  _ minimal fighting today, darlings _ or whatever Freddie wanted to celebrate to force them out of the stifling studio. He can’t really complain, being forced to work closely with Roger was starting to drive him mad, at least here they’d be drunk enough to tolerate each other. 

 

John had chugged back a considerable amount of alcohol, the table littered with tipped over shot and pint glasses. The rest of the band had abandoned him when he refused conversation after their fifth round of drinks, choosing instead to gallivant around the bar in hopes of a good lay. It’s a sad picture but he’s too drunk and out of it to really care, his head is pillowed on his hand as he waits for the umpteenth alcoholic drink he haphazardly ordered.

 

“You look horrible,” John groans, he’d rather not raise his head but in his drunken state he assumed it was his drinks arriving at the booth, he looks up and he can’t say he’s entirely disappointed when he spots a decidedly sober Roger looking despairingly at him, “How many have you had, Deacs?” 

 

John returns to his position, burying his head in his hands, “Not enough,” He doesn’t want to look at Roger right now lest his heart jump out of his throat and onto the messed up table in front of him, “What’d you want? Thought I was boring company tonight?” 

 

He feels Roger slide over in the plushed seat in front of him, chuckling softly, “Oh you know Freddie was just being dramatic, trying to get everyone in a  _ celebratory mood, dears! _ ” despite himself John lets out a huff of laughter at Roger’s exaggerated Freddie impression. Roger taps the top of his head rather incessantly, “Hey, look at me” 

 

John lets out an annoyed whine, waving Roger’s hand away, “Okay, okay! what do you want?” He lifts his head up, going slightly crossed eyed at how fast he’d done it. Roger in all his blurry, double visioned glory still looked good, he styled his hair differently today, not the usual puffed up messy rocker look, instead it was combed almost neatly, or as neatly as Roger can make his hair look. He’s dressed in all white and if John were a bit more drunk he’d probably say he looked angelic. 

 

Roger’s hand comes back up to tap at the center of John’s forehead, “You in there?” John sputters, cheeks reddening at being caught staring intensely at the other, “John, can we talk?” 

 

“Talk? Talk about what, Rog? Is this about the album? Please don’t start with me on that, I thought this was supposed to be in celebration of being halfway done? I don’t think complaining now-” 

 

“Woah, calm down it’s not about the album,” Roger raises his hand in surrender, trying to force down the smile threatening to break on his face.

 

“Whatssit ‘bout then?” He’s slurring now, he feels a little tired, he lays his head sideways on the table, peeking up from under his lashes to continue to stare at Roger. 

 

“What happened at the studio, when we talked and you rejected me-” 

  
  
“Oh, Rog, it’s still a no, I still can’t” 

 

Roger shakes his head, waving off John’s statement, “I know, I know. I just, I just wanted to tell you, or I guess I wanted to ask you if, even if it’s a no and it remains a no. it doesn’t have to affect our friendship right? We’re still friends? I just wouldn’t know what to do if I end up ruining this,” He laughs a little awkwardly, leaning his head down on the table too. “Sorry, that was probably a lot and you don’t want to deal with my dramatics right now.”

 

“Oh,” John reaches forward blindly, landing a bit harshly on Roger’s cheek. “Don’t worry you’re still my best friend, you’ll always be,” He moves his hand much like Roger did to him when they spoke at the studio, “This is just a little road bump, something we can laugh about in a year’s time. I’ll get over it and you’ll get over it and we’ll be happy, yeah?” 

 

Roger lays his hand on top of John’s, smiling, “Well, I didn’t know I was your  _ best _ friend, but I’m glad to know my position remains unscathed. Really thought you’d hate me by the amount of times you’ve ran away crying from me,” John unceremoniously pinches his cheek hard. 

 

“I wasn’t crying!” 

 

“You sure?” 

 

“Definitely not a single tear over you!” 

 

John feels Roger grip onto his hand, pulling it away from his face as he sits up straighter, “So we’re good? Everything can go back to normal now?” John gulps, the warmth of Roger’s hand feels nice, he doesn’t want him to let go. 

 

“We’re good, we’ve always been good,” Roger laughs at that, letting go of John’s hand to work on patting him on the head instead. 

 

“Not with talking about how we feel though, it seems,” Roger gets a giggle out of John, the brunette reaching up to lace their fingers together. 

 

John keeps their intertwined fingers balanced on top of his head, “Oh no, we’re very bad at that, but everything else, totally good, completely under control,” John grins as he hears Roger huff, “Don’t disagree with me!” 

 

“I’m not, I just think we’re more of a mess then you’re letting on.” 

 

“Doesn’t matter, I think we’re good. My opinion highly outweighs whatever you’re thinking right now.”

 

“Ha! Alright Deacy, if you say so,” Roger tugs on their hands, forcing John to maneuver around them to sit up straight, “Hey, John?” 

 

“Hm?” 

 

“Love you.”

 

“Rog-” 

 

“As your best friend” 

 

“Oh,” John smiles, brighter than he has in the last couple of days, “As your best friend, love you too, Rog.” 

 

Roger promptly squeals at that, cooing at the hotfaced John and as they messily throw left over bar snacks at each other, John thinks friends could work for them, could even be good for them. He hopes at least, time can only tell. But as the disgusting flickering light illuminates Roger’s laughing face, he feels like it’s worth the risk. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Roger's outfit is the all white look in pop quiz because i love that, especially the hair.  
> this chapter is a whole mess, it took longer to write than the others but it's decidedly happier than the last one! 
> 
> will being friends work out for our local idiots or will John dramatically walk out on Roger yet again? Tune in next chapter to find out


	5. budding flowers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friends doesn't seem to be working out for John and Roger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the slight delay for this chapter!  
> i gave our two lovebirds their one happy moment and on today's chapter im here to very promptly take that away from them

Their  _ love you _ s drastically increased in number the following days that even the other half of the band started noticing, the other two would toss them raised browed looks every time they even so much as spoke to each other. John was waiting for the inevitable band intervention they would get. 

 

Turns out he didn’t need to wait for long, a week after the development Freddie corners him on his way out of the studio, all raised brows and cocked hips, he watches, pained as Roger gets to walk out, unbothered. He considers gunning it but knows that Freddie will find a way to have this talk, one way or another and he doesn’t want to consider what  _ another  _ means to Freddie. 

 

“Give us a minute, darling?” 

 

“Us?”

 

Freddie gestures behind John at a seated Brian, who smiles at him, waving in what John will called misplaced cheer, “Sit with us?” 

 

John nods, stepping back into the studio to plop down onto their weathered sofa, “You ask like I have an actual choice in this.” 

 

Brian lets out a loud chuckle, dragging his stool closer to John, “Oh absolutely no choice, Deacy, glad you know.” 

 

"Why do I have a bad feeling about this?" 

 

The end of his sentence is drowned out by Freddie and Brian's collective laughter and he soon discovers he was entirely correct in his assumption that this was horrible. He sits and endures fifteen minutes of them awkwardly bouncing around trying to verbalize how they support him and Roger being together and that they were just here to make sure that we all agree that  _ this thing _ won't be affecting the band. John wants to slap them both. 

 

He stares at their satisfied faces, acting like they'd snatched up his secret and are now surprising him with genuine acceptance, which on any other day John would find endearing, right now though, he feels like he's swallowed a ten ton bowling ball, "We aren't."

 

"What's that, John?" Brian isn't really paying attention, seemingly checked out of the conversation now that he's said his piece. 

 

"Me and Roger," John gestures vaguely at the two of them, "We aren't together, this is all a misunderstanding." 

 

Freddie and Brian both slowly turn to stare at him, eyes wide with confusion. John feels increasingly uncomfortable, as if he’d just shattered their entire perception of reality and he’s scared they’ll implode and freak out. They do, or at least Freddie does, Brian remains frozen and staring at John as if the news had managed to short circuit his brain. 

 

“Darling, I don’t understand. The two of you…” Freddie seems to be at a loss for words and he feels the discomfort rise to his throat. 

 

“It’s complicated, I guess?” It’s more of a question, John isn’t entirely sure what he means by it. 

 

“How so?” It’s Brian who speaks, he seems to have gotten out of his frozen state and is instead glancing back and forth from Freddie to John. 

 

John looks defeated as he recounts the events, from his pining, confessing, to Roger confessing to his subsequent denial of said confession and finally to their possible middle ground agreement.  _ Friends.  _ John says it with a little pained hum to his voice, eyes downcast. 

 

“But friends isn’t enough, is it?” The voice is low, even in the quiet of the studio John had trouble hearing it and with his down turned eyes he doesn’t know who exactly says it, but he nods anyways. 

 

They’re right, friends isn’t enough, every time Roger turns to him to say he loves him, John feels like he could almost be content, but then Roger tacks on a wink or some sort of reminder that this isn’t the  _ love you _ he really wanted to have, this isn’t waking up in the morning next to each other, a tangle of limbs and sheets, this isn’t dancing around their living room while breakfast burns in the background. This isn’t the  _ I love you  _ they both want. That’s what makes it real fucking tragic too, they both know what they want, they just choose to not have it. 

 

John looks up, finally, after what feels like ages in his head and he notices Freddie and Brian aren’t looking at him anymore, they’re both turned to the door, they both look a bit panicked. John feels his heart rate pick up, a lump forming in his throat as he slowly turns toward the open door. 

 

Roger’s standing there with an unreadable expression, his hand on the doorway, leaning almost casually. It’s silent for far too long, no one daring to even breathe. In the end it’s Roger who breaks the silence, his voice still eerily low, “Give us some privacy, boys,” The other two scramble to get up, sparing John a pat on the back as they hurriedly scurried out. 

 

John begins to shift uncomfortably on the sofa, looking anywhere but at Roger, who was taking his time walking towards him, “I don’t understand you, Deacy,” Roger’s exasperated, pulling the stool from beside the couch to sit directly in front of John, “What do you really want from me?” 

 

John was about to make his confusion known when Roger raises a hand up, effectively shushing him, “I know you’re still mad that I didn’t tell you how I felt, granted you did the same thing, but I get it, don’t worry. I also know it was a tad selfish of me to continue to be with other people when I knew how you felt, but in my defense, you never expressed any outward distaste for it, maybe I didn’t notice, I guess I’m sorry for that too. But…” This is where Roger’s tone shifts, he sounds annoyed, he’s holding his head in his hands and John already feels guilty without even hearing what he has to say, “I can understand everything you’ve done so far, John, but what I can’t wrap my head around is this push-pull business you’re trying to fucking pull with me. I told you how I felt, you rejected me, I respected that and all I asked was for us to remain friends, for the band and because I genuinely like being your friend.”

 

“Admittedly,” Roger stands, starts pacing around the room and soon he’s a flurry of sharp words and animated limbs, “I think the love yous were a bit too much, but it made you happy or at least it seemed like it for the time being. But i don’t get it, I thought this was okay? I thought we were okay? You don’t want a relationship with me, I understand, but now it seems like you don’t even want me to be your friend anymore, is it really that hard being around me?” He says the last line in a broken whisper, all the fight in him gone as he slumps back onto the chair in front of John. 

 

“I’m sorry,” John can barely look at Roger, his eyes are stinging and he feels like he could vomit any minute now, “I don’t know what I want, I’m sorry, Rog. Please understand?” 

 

Roger, despite himself, smiles at John, it’s not the same smile, it’s tight lipped and forced, like he wants the last thing John sees of him to be at least a happy picture, “I’m sorry, too, but I can’t keep doing this anymore. We can still be civil, for the band, but I don’t think being friends will do us any good.” He lets out a humorless chuckle, patting John on the shoulder before he turns and leaves the room. 

 

John doesn’t even have enough left to cry, he sits there and lets the silence roar in his ear. How could something become so wrong? How could he ever right something he doesn’t understand? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we love communicating our feelings!   
> also if all goes well i may have a job in the upcoming days which is great for me financially but would mean chapter uploads will be a bit scattered, i apologize in advance but ill try to write as much as i can in one sitting to hopefully have the chapters way ahead of time so im not frazzled


	6. consequence of thorns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Queen goes on tour.  
> John and Roger figure out their feelings in the cities of America.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bit of a different one this one, hope you enjoy!

The album launch is successful and it earns them a five month tour of the United States and an extravagant party, which in concept was just renting out the entire pub and giving the boys unlimited and unsupervised access to the alcohol. You’d think a drunk John and a drunk Roger would bump into each other with the barrel loads of whiskey they were individually consuming, but drunk doesn’t get rid of petty and that’s really what it was, just two petty, stubborn fools, too deep in their own egos to own up to their own faults and have a two-way conversation. 

 

\-- 

_ Los Angeles _

 

The bright and sunny outside did not match the bubbling storm cloud in John’s chest, it was one awkward plane journey cramped next to Roger followed by a cramped car ride to their hotel, conveniently he was also shoved next to Roger, who for all intents and purposes was acting completely normal. He chatted animatedly with John on their long haul flight, not letting anyone in their row get a wink of sleep, he stole John’s pack of cigarettes when they were in the car, blowing smoke in John’s face.

 

All the while John tried to piece together whether they were alright or not, because on the one hand Roger still slung his arm over his shoulder and dragged him along when they were choosing who was going to room with who, but then left him for Brian when the keys were being passed around. They always shared. 

 

John for what it’s worth was thankful he didn’t have to share with Roger, having to keep up the facade of equilibrium outside of an audience was not something he thinks he’s capable of, and it might make the inevitable breakdown come sooner rather than later. 

 

\--

_ Las Vegas _

 

Las Vegas was a bad idea waiting to happen, the other three were thrumming with excess energy and excitement, the promise of bars, pubs, strip clubs, booze, and a good shag having them practically flying out of the car when they reached their hotel. Freddie making sure to keep an iron grip on John’s forearm, lest he try to escape. 

 

John wished he did, wished he’d faked fainting to get out of this, but looking at the horrible flashing neon lights and strippers with excellent core strength balancing themselves on poles scattered around the room, he thinks Freddie would have dragged his unconscious body here regardless.

 

Freddie wasn’t about to let John escape the night, so he pumped him full of alcohol which by the third glass John was pretty sure was laced with something more than vodka and by the time he’d tipped back the sixth glass there was about fifteen empty ones in front of him, time was blurring, the music melting into a buzz, he’d lost Freddie about an hour ago and Brian five minutes later to the tantalizing pull of women across the room. Roger, he hadn’t been keeping track of where the blond was, but he wasn’t here and John was tired and if he just closed his eyes and slipped down… 

 

The thud he makes when he lands on the floor was a lot quieter than he expected and also a lot softer… and warmer. The  _ floor _ groans and John soon realizes that he’s landed on their passed out drummer, who he can only guess, has been under the table for the past two hours. He’s a little too buzzed out to care to move, so he wiggles a bit to get comfortable, resting his forehead on Roger’s shoulder.

 

“Deacy, g’off me,” Roger’s voice is muffled by John’s hair and he’s weakly pushing at John’s shoulder in an attempt to get him off, before giving up and resting his arm along the bassist’s waist, “Heavy.” 

 

John lets out an offended noise at that, weakly lifting his head to glare down at Roger, “I’m not heavy at all,” He emphasizes this by resting more of his weight onto Roger’s stomach, “I’m skinnier than you, not heavy at all.” 

 

Roger wheezes out what John thinks is a laugh, his lips brushing against John’s ear, “If you say so.” 

 

They lay there in relative silence for a while, the rhythmic movement of Roger’s chest lulling John to sleep, he’s barely awake when he hears Roger speak softly, “Wish we could stay like this.” 

 

“Not sure this is entirely comfortable for you,” John feels the hand moving along his back still for a moment before it continues to stroke along his waist. 

 

“It isn’t.” 

 

“Why’d you wanna stay like this then?” 

 

“Cause it’s with you.” 

 

-

 

John wakes up hours later tucked into his own hotel bed, a pounding headache and the taste of battery acid on his tongue. He remembers his under-the-table conversation with Roger and suddenly the battery acid doesn’t taste so bad. 

 

\-- 

_ Seattle  _

 

It’s absolutely pouring when they get there, and they trudge into the hotel under one umbrella because no one thought of packing one, except Roger, who was smugly in the middle of said umbrella and safe from the torrential downpour, John would later attribute the protective hand around his waist as a kind gesture to keep him out of the rain even though his entire right side was soaked anyways, and that kind gesture surely did not last till they were in the lift well away from any sort of rain. 

 

John would also later attribute Roger wanting to share a room with him as part of the kind streak he seemed to be having in Seattle.

 

John would not comment when he emerges from their shared bathroom to see Roger pushing their beds a fraction closer and when Roger comes back from a smoke he also would not comment upon seeing John fully shoving their beds together.

 

\-- 

_ Cincinnati  _

 

The rest of the boys had planned on beers and greasy street food for the night, knocking on John’s door every five minutes to see if he’d change his mind and tag along, it was a no, even when it was Roger, leaning on the doorway giving him the saddest face he could muster, it was still a no. He’d wanted to sleep and sleep he was going to get. 

 

For a few hours at least, he wakes up at 3 a.m. to Roger shuffling around in their room, giggling whenever he made the slightest noise, John’s watching him trip around before deciding he should probably help him before he slams his head on the bedside table. 

 

He gets up and drags his feet to Roger’s side, grasping the blond’s arm in an effort to steady him, which earns him another giggle, “Deacy! I missed you!” John smiles at that, nodding before beginning to pull Roger to his own bed. 

 

“Me too. Time for bed now, though, come on,” Roger hums in agreement, breaking free from John’s albeit weak grasp, to saunter over to John’s messed up bed. 

 

Roger falls onto the mattress face first, John winces at the sound it makes on impact, “Sleep now, John.” 

 

“That’s my bed, Rog.” 

 

“Cuddle.”

 

“Rog,” There’s a warning tone to John’s voice, hip cocked as he stares fondly at Roger. 

 

“Please” And John would not admit that that weakened him, with a sigh, he pushes Roger to the other side of the bed, settling in beside him. 

 

“Only cause you asked so nicely.” 

 

\-- 

_ New York _

 

It’s the city that never sleeps, John didn’t think that involved him also not sleeping, but he’s been standing in front of the, frankly, too large window, watching the twinkling street lights, the sound of distant cars and Roger’s even breathing calming him. This is their last stop, and for some strange reason, it feels like an end of something more than just the tour, their delicate balance of okay could topple over, this is his only chance. He stubs out his cigarette on the window pane and turns to Roger’s sleeping form, shaking him awake gently. 

 

“Up,” He says in response to Roger’s confused grunt, “Come on, please.” 

 

“We late?” Roger still has his eyes closed as he sits up, patting around to find John. 

 

John smiles, reaching over to hold onto Roger’s searching hands, “No, we’re fine.” 

 

“Oh. Talk?” 

 

“Yeah, talk.”

 

Roger finally opens his eyes, peering down at John crouched down on the floor in front of him, “What’d you want to talk about?” 

 

John grip on Roger’s hand tightens for a fraction of a second, “Us.” 

 

John watches as Roger’s jaw clenches, his eyes darting around to look at anything else that isn’t the man in front of him, the seconds tick by loudly on the clock, it’s making John light headed, he’ll blame that for what he does next. 

 

He surges forward, a little more forcefully than intended, knocking them backwards as his lips connect with Roger’s, it lasts for barely a second but it feels longer, even longer when in the stunned silence they lock eyes, it’s in those loud seconds that John watches Roger’s eyes flick onto his lips, he smiles, “Okay?” 

 

Roger responds by pulling John down for another bruising kiss. John notes that Roger tastes like the Marlboros he smokes, he leans more onto the blond, a little desperate noise leaving his throat, he wants Roger closer, he wants to memorize the ridges and the sharp curves of his body, he doesn’t want this to end. 

 

But as if on cue, Roger pulls away for a breath, hand still resting on John’s neck, the ticking is louder this time, even through their panting breaths, it feels like a timer, tick, tick, tick, it’s only a matter of time before the gunshot for go sounds, John isn’t ready, or is he? The pounding of his heart is mirroring the tick of time, so much so that he almost doesn’t hear Roger speak. 

 

“Hm? Did you say something?” John says, a distracted air around him, far away.

 

“Us.” Is the last thing John hears as the roaring of blood from his running heart becomes louder still as Roger cups his jaw, he misses the soft  _ okay?  _ Asked of him as Roger leans closer, he definitely doesn’t hear the murmured  _ love you _ against the red skin of his lips. This kiss is different, it’s slow, almost as if Roger knows their race for the ticking clock has been lost and he’s here to take in what he has before he doesn’t have it anymore, it’s soft, like the way Roger speaks to him when he’s tired, slurred vowels melding into disappearing consonants, it’s warm, like Roger’s hand on the small of his back when they’re in large crowds, whispers of  _ I’ve got you  _ and  _ don’t worry _ . 

 

John responds to the kiss as best as he can, translates the beating of his heart to the shape of Roger’s lips, the fear he has to the hand on his cheek, the warmth and joy he feels to the slide of his own hand from Roger’s face down to his neck. 

  
He whispers  _ I love you, too _ when they part, soft enough for no one to hear. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is late! big apologies on my end for that, i am but a child trying to earn money in the corporate world, it's hard to juggle this with work apparently, coupled with me getting sick along the way it really put everything on hold, but i hope this vaguely fever dream fueled chapter was worth the wait! we're nearing the end but what does the end entail?


	7. plucked out thorns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will the end of tour bring the end of their finally stabilizing relationship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oOF this is a long time coming, hope u enjoy this chapter that took me far too many days to put together dear lord

The journey back home to London was quieter, they mumbled their goodbyes to each other, hands on shoulders in tired solidarity. John’s trudge to wait for a cab outside was momentarily thwarted by hurried footsteps following him and a far too heavy hand landing on his head. 

 

“Hey, John,” Roger’s voice is quiet, there’s a small, hesitant smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, “Coffee?” 

 

John lets out a louder laugh than he meant to, “You asking me out on a date, Rog?” He’s placing his heavy backpack down, fully deciding to turn around to raise his eyebrow at Roger. 

 

John watches the tips of Roger’s ears burn a brighter red and he suppresses the urge to laugh again, “If you’d have me,” Roger’s voice doesn’t have it’s usual bravado, and he’s staring shyly up at John from under his lashes, “Then, yeah, yeah I am asking.” 

 

“Oh,” John was at a loss for words, eyebrows furrowed as he looked around at anything but Roger, “Oh.” 

 

Roger rubs the back of his neck and lets out a hollow chuckle, “Uhm, is that a yes or…?” He takes half a step back, “It’s alright if it’s a no, don’t feel pressured or anything-” 

 

John interrupts him by shoving his lumpy backpack into Roger’s arms, “Yes, carry this for me,” John allows himself a moment to relish in Roger’s petulant sputtering, “Where are we going?” 

 

\--

 

They arrive at Roger’s messy flat in record time, tossing their luggage at a nondescript corner of Roger’s living room, they’ve exhausted all their small talk options on the cab on the way over and now they’re left hovering over each other with words on the tips of their tongues but not enough confidence to say them yet. 

 

“Tea?” Roger’s voice echoes loudly in the flat, startling John who was staring blankly out the dusty window. 

 

“Thought this was a coffee date?” Roger blanches, John laughs at the sound of clattering silverware and a string of curses. 

 

“Sorry! Yeah, yeah working on the coffee, sorry,” 

 

“Calm down, Rog, it’s just me,” John makes his way to the kitchen, leaning on the doorway as he watches Roger fumble clumsily with far too many cups, “Need help?” John steps closer to Roger, hand resting on his waist in greeting. 

 

“I-I’m okay, no it’s fine, make yourself at home,” Roger’s managed to plop two mismatched cups on wildly too large saucers, his hand is shaky as he pours the coffee grounds into the machine. 

 

John keeps his hand loosely around Roger’s waist, other hand going around to take the coffee grounds from his hands, “Hey, you alright?” He peeks at Roger, trying to make eye contact with the obviously flustered blond, “Look at me? Please?”

 

Roger turns, almost reluctantly, lower lip caught between his teeth, looking past John at a spot on the wall, “I’m okay… I’m fine.”

 

John tightens the hold he has around Roger’s waist, free hand coming up to tilt Roger’s chin up, “You’re freaking out, why?” 

 

“It’s just…” Roger’s hand comes to rest on the one John has around his waist, “I’m scared. I’m scared that now that the tour is over, that we’ll… that whatever we had would be over? I know we haven’t talked about it, not really, and I guess not knowing is starting to wear on me, you know?”

 

John hums in agreement, twisting his hand around to grab Roger’s wrist, pulling him towards the dining table, “Sit, we’ll talk. Now. Figure things out?” 

 

Roger is fidgeting around on his seat, eyeing his and John’s intertwined hands with an unreadable expression, he’s almost shocked when a cigarette pops into his field of vision, “Thanks,” He murmurs, accepting the light offered to him as well, taking a deep drag before he starts to speak, “What do you think? Do you want… this?” 

 

John resists the urge to say  _ obviously _ instead choosing his next words as carefully as he could, “Roger, I’m here and I want this as much as you, but I think we need to decide what this is first? Don’t you think?” John makes to reach for the cigarette Roger is holding, taking a long drag out of it before stubbing it out on the corner of the table, he ignores Roger’s slightly offended huff at that. 

 

“Us, a relationship, I think, if you’d like that-”

 

“Would you?” John’s eyes are boring into Roger’s, their clasped hands are both clammy, and John feels his pulse on his temples and he faintly regrets stubbing the cigarette out so early.

 

“I would,” Roger’s got some confidence back in his voice, but he’s still not directly looking John in the eye. 

 

John bites his lip, trying not to smile just yet, he hops onto the next chair that’s beside Roger, dragging himself closer by pulling on Roger’s hand, “I would as well.” 

 

Roger,  _ finally _ looks at him, eyes suspiciously sparkling, a growing smile on his face, “Why’d we make it so difficult for ourselves then?” 

 

John bursts out laughing at that, smacking Roger in the face as he flails, “God, we’re idiots, aren’t we?” 

 

“Ow! John, Deacy, calm down!” There’s no real threat behind Roger’s words and the shit eating grin he has on really doesn’t make him any more dominating, “Hey.”

 

“Hey, to you, too.” 

 

Roger leans forward to kiss John, their hands still tangled together, making this a lot harder than it should have been, but the kiss is slow and tastes like their shared cigarette. It’s no longer a race, it’s no longer admitting defeat that time ran a lot faster than any of them could imagine, it’s just warmth and love and a breath of relief, because finally, months of back and forth and pain and yelling and tears and avoidance has all led up to this. 

 

Has led up to John kicking his chair away to climb into Roger’s lap, a giggle trapped between their lips, to Roger pulling John impossibly closer, making up for lost time he’d later tell the younger. 

 

Later when they’ve both fucked off to bed, Roger convincing John to stay over with promises of burnt pancakes and more of himself, they’re piled somehow both on top of each other, with John’s head nestled onto Roger’s chest. 

 

“I love you,” is whispered by both of them at the same time, on the cusp of sleep and wakefulness, holding onto each other like they were scared it was all too good to be real. 

 

\-- 

 

John wakes up that morning with the smell of burning and Roger screaming in disgust. He lazily walks downstairs to discover the blond scraping thick, gloppy coffee out of the machine, John would later absolutely not apologize to Roger when he burst out laughing and proclaimed Roger as an idiot, Roger throws a spoon at him and proudly proclaims that he’s John’s idiot at least. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this isn't the end for my favorite idiots, this is only the beginning! we'll follow them in the up and downs of their newly formed relationship very soon!!! hope u enjoyed this ride which involved far too many walking out of rooms scenes. i appreciate all the feedback i got from this it means the world! more stories coming soon!!! (also if anyone cares or remembers my job is going so well im emotional i feel so accomplished!)


End file.
